


First Blood

by Jackeline Harkness (Jackeline_Harkness)



Series: Second Realities [2]
Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Blood, First Kiss, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 02:10:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3918946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackeline_Harkness/pseuds/Jackeline%20Harkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some very good things have a less than ideal start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Blood

First Blood.

 

Nick ignored the technician as the young man gave him the stink eye. He just sighed as the EMTs tended to his injuries, and watched as the forensics team loaded the bodies in their vehicles. From that point on, they weren’t their problem anymore.

He felt like he’d been run over by a truck and could only think of sleeping for a week, but all things considered, he knew he should be grateful. After all, Monroe had fled the scene unnoticed by the police backup; it was the stupid höllentiers in the body bags and not him or his friends; the case was done and all that remained was paperwork; nobody would question them so much about the dead guys, since the Captain was there; and although they all had bruises and cuts they’d be feeling for days, the worst was Hank’s broken nose, and none of them held permanent injuries. So, yeah, he was willing to make an effort to feel grateful.

The Grimm gave his partner a sympathetic look as the older detective climbed into the ambulance to go get a full check up at the hospital. The broken nose alone meant he’d have to get x-rays, and they all knew it meant he wouldn’t be free to go home for hours.

“Everything alright?”

If he’d had more energy, Nick would have jumped at hearing Renard’s voice so close to him.

“Yeah, I think so,” he turned towards his captain, and saw that he hadn’t fared a lot better than him. “I could use a drink.”

“Me too,” Renard said, sounding tired.

“Wanna join me for a beer?” he asked, following a sudden impulse.

Renard was about to decline, but Nick interrupted him.

“We have beer, back home. Monroe likes those imported microbrews,” he shrugged.

The captain visibly considered it for a moment.

“Why don’t you join me? I have beer, if that’s what you feel like. I, myself, could do with something stronger. I have a particular bottle in mind.”

“Sure,” Nick shrugged again. Besides, it was possible –even if not too likely– that Monroe had gone to bed already, and after living in his friend’s house for free, dragging him into trouble on a regular basis and now having gotten him into a fight that had left them all battered, he preferred not to wake him up on top of everything else.

He took Hank’s job car and followed Renard’s black SUV back to his fancy building.

Renard waited for him by the elevator, and as they made their way to Renard’s floor, Nick once again thought that apparently the man spent more money than a police captain should be able to afford. They all knew he was royalty, even if he was a bastard son, so maybe that explained the luxury the man surrounded himself with.

His theory was immediately validated as he stepped into the captain’s apartment. The place itself and some of the furniture and decoration were obviously expensive. The rest of it… well, it belonged in a world Nick had never seen up close, one he’d only glimpsed at in museums, television and that one antique gallery he’d accompanied Juliette to once.

He felt a stab of pain through his chest at the memory of Juliette. He still loved her. He’d most likely love her forever, even if he knew that letting go of her was the best he could do, for everyone involved. But he’d loved her for years, had been about to marry her, had imagined having children with her, had pictured himself growing old by her side… and at times, when he had a moment to pause and reflect on his life, he felt her absence like a physical pain. Sometimes he craved her presence like crazy; like now, that he was bruised and sore and tired and lonely.

“Are you sure you don’t want something stronger?”

Nick almost jumped out of his skin. For a moment, he’d forgotten where he was, and he certainly hadn’t heard or felt Renard approach him. He looked at the beer bottle and the whiskey tumbler his boss held in his hands.

“Actually, I think I could use something stronger. If it’s not a problem.”

“Of course not,” the man said, and extended the tumbler to him, before abandoning the beer bottle on a side table and walking towards the liquor cabinet again. “Take a seat,” he invited as he poured himself a generous glass of the rich amber liquid.

The Grimm obeyed. He took a sip of the liquor and groaned as it burned his split lip before warming its way to his stomach. He might not be really cultured where fine liquors were concerned, but he could tell when something was expensive. And all his senses said that what he was drinking was damn expensive.

He leaned back on the sofa, resting his sore back against its supple surface, and just a moment later, he was joined by his captain.

For the longest time, they both remained in silence, sipping the whiskey and letting it anesthetize the various kinds of pain that coursed through them.

“Thank you,” Nick said.

“You’re welcome,” was the polite response. Then, after a pause, “and thank you, too.”

“What for?”

“For being reliable,” the captain said after emptying his second tumbler of whiskey.

“Huh.” The Grimm thought about what exactly that meant, but decided not to ask. He didn’t know if he could handle more information or more complications than he already had in his life. “Things haven’t been easy lately.”

“Things have never been easy,” Renard said, and only then did Nick realize that he’d spoken aloud.

“I guess I at least had a few years of… normalcy,” the detective said, because he felt like he had to share something now that Renard had hinted at his troubled past.

“Normalcy means something different for everyone.”

“Does that… mean it was always difficult for you?”

“I’ve never considered my life easy. And there was a time when I thought I had gotten used to it all, to the intrigue and the danger. I thought I had seen it all. Then I found out I really knew nothing.”

Nick looked into the green-golden eyes that he’d often found cold, indifferent, scheming, lying, infuriating… and for the first time in all the years he had of knowing the man, he saw a flicker of pain in them. Pain was the word that would best describe it, the fleeting shadow that crossed through the Captain’s eyes, but it was actually a vast mosaic of emotions and sensations.

The Grimm wasn’t sure what it was, exactly. Maybe it had been sympathy, or shock at finding out that this man wasn’t carved in cold stone after all, maybe it was tiredness and soreness mixing with high quality liquor, maybe it was the attraction he’d decided to ignore for all that time, or maybe it was simply the desperate impulse to share his loneliness so he didn’t have to feel it so acutely on his own. Whatever the reason was, Nick found himself closing the space that separated them and pressing his lips against Renard’s.

He was surprised when the older man kissed him back, even if it was only for a few moments, even if he never deepened it, even if he broke it gently resting a hand on his neck.

“You’re a good man, Nick. That is important. Perhaps more than you being a Grimm. It is what makes you trustworthy.”

The detective huffed a bitter laugh.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Nick said, his head full of the gentle words Juliette had used to let him know, in no uncertain terms, that they were done for good.

“I am,” he said, leaning closer again and making Nick feel a strange wave of relief. “That is why I’ve protected you, since before your Grimm heritage even awoke.”

“You’ve said that before,” he let his eyes close, and he just leaned into the warmth of the other man’s contact.

“It’s the truth. I’ve protected you in situations you weren’t even aware of. I’ve protected you against powers beyond your imagination.”

Nick’s lips parted to ask him to elaborate, but he could only gasp in surprise as his mouth was silenced by a kiss, one that was demanding and deep enough that he could unmistakably taste the whiskey in his boss’ mouth. He let himself deepen the kiss, wrap his arms around Renard’s torso to bring him closer; let himself follow the Captain’s lead when the taller man moved so they were lying on the sofa, his bigger body caging Nick beneath him.

The Grimm could feel the hardness pressed against his thigh, and he silently thanked whatever deity might be listening that he wasn’t the only one whose blood was boiling.

“I had my half-brother assassinated when he tried to take you by force,” the bastard prince confessed, his breath hot against Nick’s face.

The detective swallowed the lump that had decided to park itself in his throat.

“What did you expect to gain from that?” Nick asked, and he had difficulties to recognize his own voice.

Renard gently shook his head, looking the Grimm dead in the eyes.

“I just wanted to preserve what you are.”

Nick pulled him down into a new kiss that tasted of blood and fine liquor and heat and raw need, and didn’t let him break apart until he felt lightheaded with the lack of oxygen, not at all helped by the older man’s hands crawling under his shirt.

By the time Renard separated from him, rising off his body, Nick was seeing black spots crowding his vision.

“Come on,” the Captain said, and Nick couldn’t tell if he’d extended him a hand and he’d taken it, or if the other man had simply grabbed his hand and pulled him up.

His mind was still half off as he stumbled through his boss’ elegant apartment to his bedroom, and the next thing he knew was that he was half sitting on the armrest of some big armchair, his shirt was gone and Renard was working his pants off.

“Wait…” he said.

“What is it?”

“Is…” he swallowed, in an effort to clear his throat. The thought had just come to his mind. “Isn’t my blood bad for you?”

Renard shook his head.

“Every now and then,” he said, finally getting the damned belt off and tossing it to the floor, “there are certain advantages to being only a half-zauberbiest.”

Nick thought he managed a sound of assent, but he couldn’t be sure as his mind broke like a glass at the sensation of Renard’s strong fingers closing around his swollen manhood. Just a few strokes, and he was eagerly kicking his shoes off, trying to get his pants down without dislodging Renard’s grip on his cock.

It didn’t last, and the cool air almost hurt where it touched his sensitive flesh when Renard let go of him to go search for something in a nearby drawer. For a moment, through the fog in his mind, he thought maybe it would be a blade, or a weapon of some sort… and almost immediately his instincts told him it wasn’t that, that he wasn’t in danger.

He shifted his weight to allow Renard to lower his pants, and he was about to protest the awkward prison they made around his knees when Renard pushed him back. He lost his balance and for a moment he pictured himself lying sprawled on the polished floor, or with his back broken on the armchair’s solid form, but his fall was broken by a strong arm around his waist. His hands tried to gain purchase on the other man’s body, but he wasn’t there. His mind stopped caring when he felt the familiar sensation of a skilled mouth closing around his shaft.

He wasn’t a stranger to receiving blow jobs, and just for an instant he marveled at the skill his boss was showing him. He couldn’t imagine Renard was the kind of man to easily sink to his knees in front of another man, for whatever purpose; but at the same time, he couldn’t imagine him being mediocre in anything he did.

He was too lost in the sensations, so he didn’t know what Renard was doing until he felt slick fingers pushing inside his body.

“Wait!” he almost panicked for a moment, unsure of what exactly he was feeling as Renard’s skilled mouth drove him crazy at the same time his fingers invaded his body in a way he hadn’t felt in long years.

Renard didn’t stop at once. He took his time to slow down, giving his swollen member an almost lazy lick before completely letting go of it. It was only then that Nick realized the bastard prince still had two long fingers buried deep inside his body.

His throat refused to let a single sound out. Save for a guttural noise when the captain removed his fingers. Then, he was rising to his feet, and to Nick he looked taller than ever, even when he pulled him up and close against his body.

Somehow, they ended up standing in front of the impressive floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down on the magnificent, sleeping Portland.

“This is my city,” Renard’s voice said right next to his ear. “I’ve chosen it to be my residence, and my territory. It is mine to guard and protect.”

Nick rested a hand on the cold glass, grateful for the moment he was given to catch on his breath.

“It is also your city, even if you haven’t realized it yet.”

The Grimm swallowed, feeling his throat a bit dry.

“It is my city, and it is your city. And if you so choose, it can be _our_ city.”

The detective didn’t need the older man to clarify the difference, but he still half turned around to ask, only to stop when his eyes found that the zauberbiest had removed his jacket, his tie, his shoes and his shirt.

The Captain stepped closer, and stroked Nick’s back with the back of his hand. Nick leaned into the touch, craning his neck to kiss the taller man. Renard’s hands went to rest on his hips, fingers playing with the contour of his hipbones.

“Have you been with a man before?”

Nick felt a wave of heat at what the question implied.

“It’s been a long time,” he answered.

“I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Not that you could,” Nick said, though he wasn’t so sure his words were true.

“Still. I wouldn’t try,” the smile barely touched his lips before he leaned forward again, kissing Nick’s mouth.

Nick leaned back when he felt his superior officer grind his hips against his body, the hot erection he’d released from his clothes at some point was like a branding iron against his lower back. Turning around, he leaned on Renard as he finished kicking his pants off, one hand gripping the taller man’s shoulder as the other slid down to grab at Renard’s cock. He found his Captain wasn’t just tall and broad-shouldered, but that he was well-proportioned in other areas, too.

“Not sure that’s going to fit,” Nick said, trying to turn his doubt into a light-hearted comment.

“It will,” Renard said in a voice that was reminiscent of a growl.

And then, Nick found himself lifted off the ground as if he weighted nothing, and unceremoniously tossed on the middle of Renard’s huge bed. The coolness of the sheets made his skin break in goosebumps in his arms; just for a moment, as the sight of Renard removing what was left of his clothes heated up his blood as sure as a bonfire.

Then, the bastard prince was on top of him, pinning him down as he pulled his thighs apart to wrap them around his own body, making the alpha male in Nick rear up in protest.

“Fuck!” Nick cursed as he felt the Captain grab his hips and sink into his body in a single firm movement.

“That’s the idea,” Renard said huskily, but he leaned down to kiss Nick, forcing his body under control to let the detective get used to him.

Nick’s thighs pressed hard on Renard’s sides, his blunt-nailed fingers clawing at the bastard prince’s back as he couldn’t decide what he was feeling for a moment. The stretch burned, even with the previous preparation, and it had been years since he’d felt filled like that by another man; the fact that Renard’s body was bigger than his was another new sensation, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it as his instincts shot in all directions at once. Then again, he reveled in the sensation of the hot skin against his, of strong muscle he could claw and push at without remorse; there was pride at the knowledge that Renard wouldn’t bed just anyone, a thrill at the uncertainty of whether he could actually overpower the zauberbiest if he so decided; and the cock filling him pressed hotly against all the right places inside him.

“Tell me you’re fine,” Renard demanded, sounding like he was on the edge of his self-control.

“I’m fine,” Nick gritted out.

And then, they were both moving, Renard’s fingers digging into Nick’s hips as he tightened his grip on him to keep his punishing pace; Nick’s hands clawing on Renard’s shoulder and neck as he arched his back, pushing back to meet each penetration with equal strength. He knew he’d be feeling the effects for days, but he knew the savage rhythm they were both following wouldn’t leave Renard unscathed, either.

“I’m gonna come,” Nick managed to half articulate.

“Good,” Renard bit out.

Nick held on tight for a moment longer, and then, he just let go of himself, letting the strength of climax hit him like a sledgehammer. He drowned his shout against Renard’s throat, as his semen painted stripes between their hot, sweaty bodies.

Renard let out a low, inhuman growl as Nick bit him, and just an instant later, he felt his own release shake his body like an electric current. He fisted Nick’s short hair, pulling his head back so he could look directly into dazed blue-gray eyes as he emptied his seed inside the younger man’s tight body.

He managed to roll to the side as he pulled out of the Grimm’s body, avoiding falling on top of him as he crumbled down to the sheets.

Hearing only the sound of their combined gasping breaths and hammering hearts, Sean Renard felt the exhaustion of the day pile on top of him. He closed his eyes, letting his arms do what they wanted and pull the Grimm closer against his body.

Here was one of the few creatures in the world that could actually pose a real danger to him. The same creature he had decided to trust and protect. The same creature that, apparently, had decided to trust him back, after all.

He grabbed a fistful of the detective’s hair, damp with sweat, and relished the wave of power he felt when the Grimm let out a small sound of protest but let him manhandle him, making him turn his head to look at him. He caressed the bruised cheek lightly, the tenderness of the touch contrasting with the rough grip on his hair.

The next kiss they shared tasted of blood, but neither protested.

“Do you want me to go?” the detective asked against his mouth.

“No,” Renard said simply, pulling the younger man closer.

“Good,” Nick said, and then let himself melt bonelessly against the bastard prince.


End file.
